A challenge of the epic proportions
by ARTs Ninja Pal
Summary: Looking back on it, his mother taught him a lot of things, but she did not, by any circumstance, teach Stiles how to cook. So naturally Stiles decided to teach her something instead. Complete Fluff.


By all rights it should have been _easy._

There were logical steps to be taken, and yet she, Claudia Stilinski, self promoted chef extraordinaire somehow managed to not only destroy dinner but also cover the kitchen ceiling, walls, floors and cabinets with tomato sauce.

_Again._

How on earth can you completely screw up making pasta?

Just because she was technically _banned_ from cooking full stop, even _with_ supervision ever since "The Great Brownie Disaster" which had been graciously named by her ever so_ loving_ husband and demon child, doesn't _necessarily_ mean that she can't _try._

This should have been easy there were only couple of steps to the recipe. She should have been able to make at least something, anything even remotely edible that had limited risk of food poisoning. Running a hand through her hair in frustration she turned and walked into to the laundry.

* * *

Stiles walked into the house after finishing school, to find his mother attempting to scrape what looked like tomato sauce off the kitchen ceiling with a mop. The sad part was the fact that this isn't the first time he's seen her do this. With a shake of his head he dropped his backpack in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Whattcha doing Mommy?"

It was with a startled yelp, a clang and a few swear words, Claudia turned to face her son, rubbing the top of her head.

"Hey there little wolf, I didn't hear you come in. I'm uh-I'm just, you know, cleaning. Sometimes you have to clean the house and I decided that today was the best day to clean it's been a while since we cleaned and as the saying goes a clean kitchen means that a clean kitchen is a-a uh.. clean thing?" trailing off awkwardly she slowly started to glare at her little wol-_demon_ child; who was currently giving her _the look. Damn you John._

"So you were cleaning the ceiling with a mop because?"

"Ah, that. Yes, well that is a story for another time I believe, why don't you just go and to your hom-"

"You were cooking pasta again weren't you? I can tell Mommy."

"What? No I wasn't cooking. I was _cleaning. _"

"Theres pasta all over the floor Mommy." Walking further into the room Stiles jumped up onto the kitchen bench, scratching his hand on top of the open cook book beside him, glancing down at the recipe. Yep, pasta.

It was then, when Claudia became a mumbling mess of indignant protests and denials, which were clearly falling onto deaf ears judging by the pointed look from her son. Scrunching up her nose, she pouted and grabbed ahold of the closest a oven mitten, throwing it down like a gauntlet before his feet, issuing a challenge of the epic proportions.

After all a Stilinski being challenged is just like having an argument with one, good luck trying to win.

* * *

It was one very tired, decaffeinated deputy that stumbled into the Stilinski home to screaming. Reaching for his gun, he slowly crept towards the kitchen when he heard muffled cursing and giggles. Placing his gun back into it's holster he walked through the doorway, and caught his wife standing in the middle of the kitchen, frozen with a frying pan held in both hands, giving him the second to worst attempt of feign innocence she'd ever given him; and that's after The Great Brownie Disaster. Shaking his head and crossing his arms, he looked all the more like the stern parent telling off their child for having their hand in the cookie jar; well, the more like the supposed _adult _that had become his _wife._

"Now what was it I said that you shouldn't do Dia? I'm pretty sure I said it was cooking."

Gaping at him, she ever so slowly started to crouch down and lowered the frying pan to the floor. Slowly rising back up she looked around the kitchen at her amused husband and child to rest upon the mop that had be aimlessly thrown earlier, staring at it she quickly turned to face him, "Really John, I - I remember Cleaning. I don't know. I have a really good verbal memory. And I remember cleaning. I remember that distinct "clll" sound. _Cl_eaning. _Clll_eaning."

"I said cooking. That wonderful extreme sport your banned from remember? With the "coo" sound. _Cooooking._ Hear the difference?"

"But cooking and cleaning sound so similar you know?" "Uh huh."

"Yes and I suppose _it is_ easy to have a hard time differentiate between the two." "And what about the frying pan?"

"What frying pan? I don't see any frying pan. Have you hit your head recently? Maybe you thought it was a frying pan that hit you that's why your thinking of one now, 'cause I sure don't see any frying pan. Do you?"

Smirking he raised an eyebrow and pointed to the floor at her feet; cringing she stumbled back and jumped up onto the bench where Stiles was sitting earlier. Walking further into the room John gave Stiles a look, which made the child promptly run and hug him. Glancing back at his sulking wife, John looked down to Stiles who had his back to him,

"Stiles buddy, what were you and your Mother doing before I arrived home?" Looking up at him he gave a smile, "Well, I came home and found Mommy cleaning the ceiling with a mop _again_ and I asked her what she was doing, 'cause there was pasta all over the floor and then she challenged me to see who could cook better. But then I tried to teach Mommy how to cook pasta following the instructions properly but Mommy almost blew it up _again_. Daddy, I don't think I can teach her, I think she's what you sometimes call a hopeless case."

Muffling his laughter, he patted Stiles's shoulder "Stiles, why don't you go and wash up okay?" Getting a nod, he watched his son walk out of the room, and turned to his now pouting wife. Walking over to her, he side stepped what remained of the frying pan on the floor, and _was that melted?_

"Dia, why don't you go ring for some pizza whilst I go and uh dispose of this okay?" Jumping down she hugged him, leaning back she looked up at him "I was only trying to make something special. I don't get what I'm doing wrong?"

Resting a kiss against her forehead, he gave her a small and amused smile, "I know. Your always trying to do something special, it's just food poisoning is the wrong sort of special you know? There is a _reason _why we don't let you cook remember?"

Sighing she glanced at the doorway and smiled fondly, "You know, our little wolf was really great today. He most definitely does not get the cooking gene from me; thank goodness; or from you either for that matter. He's going to be a good leader when he's older, a leader of the pack" sighing she shook her head, untangled herself from him and went to go and ring up the pizza delivery.

As he watched her leave the room he glanced down to the frying pan on the floor, grabbing ahold of the handle he straightened up and scratching the back of his head. Huh, looking closer at the remains, the pan and what was left of the pasta had become one. _How does she do this every time?_

Shaking his head and he chucked it into the trash and turned to follow Claudia who was currently arguing with the pizza delivery guys. After all a Stilinski being challenged is just like having an argument with one, good luck trying to win.

* * *

_So that's that. My third Teen Wolf fic in about a month. (Yeah, I'm on holidays at the moment, I don't start uni until the end of February)_

_Anyway I would love to know what you guys think. So please leave a review/comment_

_NINJA._


End file.
